


Come Back

by Pseudologia



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, reflection: OJH POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pseudologia/pseuds/Pseudologia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The woman is calling James </i>Jack<i>, yelling about how he has to go, and despair cuts through confusion in a heartbeat; because in a world where he just kissed another man in front of his entire platoon, of course there are rifts in time and lying, beautiful strangers and God knows what else.</i></p><p>Capt. Jack Harkness considers the events of what would be his last night at the Ritz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Back

**Author's Note:**

> ten points if you guessed that the title was from _Atonement_. i am so sorry for writing this and not working on the only WIP i have but...wow. this poor, underrated pairing. and my poor, unaddressed feelings.

The woman is calling James _Jack_ , yelling about how he has to go, and despair cuts through confusion in a heartbeat; because in a world where he just kissed another man in front of his entire platoon, of course there are rifts in time and lying, beautiful strangers and God knows what else.

 _It's my duty_ —and of course it is, he thinks. He'll be saying the same thing to his men within the next twenty-four hours, no matter what he's walking into. He thinks, later that night, that it might be a gaping white light as well. It's the same time he thinks about the man from seventy-first: a man who claims his name and his accent and just as well claims him. For a moment he wonders if the man could have been him in a different skin, and then he closes his eyes and remembers a confident smile, sure hands, and a kind of manic edge that he hasn't fought for long enough to show.

He laughs, because of course that's not him. Ridiculous courage had swallowed him whole tonight and placed his arms around another while his men looked on in horrified confusion. He's not ashamed and he's certainly not _sorry_ , not in the least bit, but there is something to be said for the trust of a troop.

He thinks of guilty, transitory glances at other men on duty, of how he'd never been brave enough to match his tie and handkerchief while he was off duty in the city. He thinks of how he's always hidden in the safety of the uniform, and it had always worked. Until tonight.

He was barely brave enough to hold hands. It had been James who'd curled his fingers around Jack's, James who'd returned for that kiss—God, that mind-blowing kiss that would be on a constant loop in his mind until the day he died. But, he realizes proudly, it had been him who'd confessed it in the first place. Him who'd run a desperate hand through James' hair in front of all those people. For the first time, he thinks he might not be too weak to lead his men into battle the morning after next. He realizes that James will forever be the most daring risk he's ever taken.

 _Hasn't lost a man yet_ , George had said proudly of him. Jack gropes for his bedside table: another shot of whiskey, a gulp, a sigh.

He starts to drift into sleep. Fleetingly, he hopes he'll dream that it's actually true.

When the shells hit him, it's the dreams that he sees. His life doesn't flash before his eyes, as he'd been told, but rather what it could have been. Clasped hands in the middle of the street and playful staring contests across a booth in a fancy restaurant. Sweet, lingering kisses and kissing with the knowledge that there will be more to come while lazy sunlight pours onto haphazard sheets and tangled limbs. A uniform-clad wedding where his parents and friends are all smiling and happy, and it doesn't matter who is really named Captain Jack Harkness anymore, because they both can be. Seeing the world. Awkward Christmases and birthday surprises and all the content gazes in between.

He starts to drift into sleep. Deliriously, he pictures light shining ahead of him and sees James there, hand outstretched and confident smirk in place. Jack laughs—in reality, a bark, a wheeze, a final release of air—and wonders if the light has had the same halo effect on him as it has on James. He takes his hand and continues their dance.

Nobody ever sees that Captain Jack Harkness dies with a grin on his face or a song on his lips.

 _There were angels dancing at the Ritz_.

 


End file.
